Chapter 12: Living Web

Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns Harry Potter, and a lot of money too, the annoyingly wealthy woman. I want money. Think I could persuade her to give me some?

Thanks for 308 reviews goes to: Pheonix, Simpson-Girl, mesmer, jules37, DracMione, samhaincat, Haystack8190, Lyra Silvertongue2, Awkward, KrystyWroth, Flexi Lexi, SycoCallie, btvsgoddess, alka, Laterose, Mandemi, Afrael2, Hustler, Chiinoyami-chan, Cho Chang-Emotional Dark Hole, storm039, Vfoxy713, ladymistress, PinkTribeChick, GryffindorBabe2, heavengurl899, IceCristal, Ar-Zimraphel, food-luva, draconas, GraceOfTheFallenMuse, kessi1011, dead dude walking, willowfairy.

A/N: Argh, rough week. I currently have two stories batting around in my head in addition to Fallen - which will be coming soon to a computer near you – and both contain pretty miserably characters – I won't extrapolate, it would ruin the stories. The stories are lovely, and I adore them to bits, but the downside of having a large-ish bundle of miserable characters in your head is something I'm going to term, 'emphatic resonance'. Basically, when I get a little upset over something, due to the characters, I end up getting more upset than I ought to be. Which, of course, is extremely annoying not only for me but for my friends. Who all get huggles and chocolate (special vegan chocolate for you, doce!) for putting up with me.

Enough of me, however, onto other matters. I have a website looming on the horizon – a couple of friends got their own and, being wonderful people, gave me a subdomain. Thanks loads! It's going to be a home to Fallen, with numerous little extras – any one-shots I do based on it, perhaps a long explanation of the Fallen, some interesting snippets – anything I can think of to put on it, as well as some of my original fiction. I'll keep you updated.

People who are impatient for some romance had better get some more patience. I can promise that they will become closer soon, however, romance is some way off. It's going to be a very, very long story, and there will be plenty of time after they get together to enjoy the sweet yumminess of Draco and Hermione love. Until then, patience!

Also, remember the D/Hr Challenge fic a few weeks ago? The period of anonymity is now over, so I can post the fic I wrote! It's going up at the same time as this, so look for That Which Could Never Be in my profile. Also, you may note that all the chapter names on Fallen will be changing very shortly.

And that's about all. Enjoy!

~*~

Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

Chief Seattle

~*~

'Now, it should be safer this year than it would have been last year,' Mrs Weasley was saying, as the group of teenagers and adults stood assembled in the hallway, beside the blank patch on the wall where the portrait of Sirius' mother had once hung. 'Everyone knows You-Know-Who is back, so they'll be watching out for any suspicious activity. But I want us all to stay together, there's safety in numbers. And don't get into any enclosed spaces, stay in the open.'

They all nodded, with the exception of Draco, who merely raised an eyebrow. Hermione watched him surreptitiously. He couldn't be intending to go off on his own, could he? It was far too dangerous, with his father looking for him… but no, she was making wild hypotheses. Draco was sensible, he wouldn't even think of putting himself in danger…

'Hermione?' Mrs Weasley's voice cut into her thoughts. 'Do you have your money?'

'What?' she asked. 'Oh… oh, yes, my parents sent me plenty this morning. I'll have to get it changed at Gringotts, though…'

'That's alright.' Mrs Weasley smiled. 'Should we go to Gringotts first?'

Mr Weasley, who was standing near the back of the group beside Lupin, nodded. 'We all need to get money, unless anyone thinks we should stop at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink first?'

'We should go after the shopping.' Tonks suggested. 'Or we could get ice cream, it looks hot today.' It did; though the hallway itself was grim and dark, the sun shone cheerfully outside, casting determined beams of gold into the house.

Ginny grinned at the idea. 'Oh, please, Mum?' she begged. 'It's been ages since I last had ice cream…'

'I'll consider it.' Mrs Weasley replied with an indulgent, proud smile. 'You deserve a treat for becoming Prefect – oh, I almost forgot! I have to buy you a gift, is there anything you'd like?'

'For becoming Prefect?' Ginny asked, and Mrs Weasley nodded proudly. Ginny tipped her head on one side, getting the slightly detached look that came over her whenever she was thinking hard. 'I don't know…'

'Get a broomstick.' Ron suggested, at which Mrs Weasley looked doubtful. 'You'll need one if you're going to be on the Quidditch team…'

But Ginny shook her head. 'Fred and George said they'd buy me one if I make the team.'

'When you make the team.' Ron cut in, and Harry nodded in agreement. Ginny flushed slightly with pleasure, and carried on.

'And if I don't get on it, I won't need a really good broomstick anyway. The school ones are good enough for messing around on…' She paused. 'What do you think I should get?'

Hermione thought about it. 'An owl, perhaps?' she suggested.

'I don't need one, I just use my friends', or one of the school owls,' Ginny pointed out. 'And most of the time I'm just replying to someone else's letter, which means I can use their owl. I could get an animal, though…'

Draco slouched irritably against the wall, drawing Hermione's glance to him. She quickly ignored him, looking away. 'You aren't really a toad person. A cat, perhaps? Crookshanks could use some company too…'

'And cats aren't too expensive.' Mrs Weasley pointed out hopefully.

Ginny appeared to like the idea. 'I wanted a cat when I was younger,' she remarked, 'only Mum would never let me have one.'

'Not while Bill was at home; he was allergic.' Mrs Weasley said. 'And it is so tiring to keep casting cleaning charms every day… It wouldn't be such a problem now he's living in Egypt, as long as you keep it outside when he comes to stay.'

'I will,' Ginny promised with a grin. 'Can I really have one?'

'Of course, if Arthur agrees. Arthur?' Mrs Weasley asked. Mr Weasley looked up sharply; he'd been engaged in conversation with Lupin.

'What is it?'

'We're getting Ginny a cat, as a present for becoming Prefect,' she explained patiently to her husband. 'Is that alright?'

'Why, yes, dear, of course.' Mr Weasley replied, still looking rather startled, and Ginny beamed.

They finally set off. They were walking to Diagon Alley; it was only ten minutes away through the streets of London. Ginny spent most of the time in a daze, daydreaming of cats. Harry and Ron were discussing Quidditch again. Mrs Weasley and her husband were leading the way, making sure no one got lost, while Tonks and Lupin were strolling along, chattering about nothing very much, and enjoying the warm summer sunshine.

Which left Hermione and Draco. They were near the rear of the group, but they couldn't talk – Tonks and Lupin were behind them and would notice, and probably say something about it, which would attract the others' attention. They would be suspicious – especially Mrs Weasley, who had started being nicer to Draco after Hermione had spoken to her, but still didn't trust the boy.

Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and toyed with the edge of a carefully rolled scroll of parchment, one that she'd spent almost an hour working on the night before. She must have read hundreds of books in her life, and recommended them to friends, but when it came to choosing books to illustrate emotion to someone who'd never felt them before… it was difficult.

But she'd done it, and now all that remained was to actually give the thing to him. She'd tried to get it to him that morning, but Mrs Weasley had wanted to get them all out early and, although Hermione had seen Draco at breakfast, she hadn't been able to speak to him.

And she couldn't simply go and give it to him. Tonks and Lupin were behind them, and they'd certainly see her give Draco the parchment and be interested in what it was. Certainly, there wasn't anything wrong with a list of book recommendations, but it might cause a few raised eyebrows, and questions from Harry and Ron later. Tonks wouldn't care, neither would Lupin or Mr Weasley, but the rest would find it suspicious. She was supposed to hate Malfoy. True, she could do whatever she wanted, but it would cause awkward questions…

Which meant she needed an excuse to get near enough to pass it to him. She glanced sideways; estimated the distance between them… it would work. Hermione took the piece of parchment out of her pocket, hid it in her hand, and timed the moment carefully. The wrong second, the wrong angle…

Now. Carefully she pretended to slip sideways, straight into Malfoy, the two of them toppling to the ground. The world, for an instant as she fell, was a muddled mix of sensations, of up and down, the ground twisting away from her until she met it with a crash. He cursed from somewhere above her; she located his hand, shoved the parchment into it, felt him grip it tightly, then pushed herself sideways and away from him, feeling quite proud. It had worked.

'Hermione?' came Ron's voice. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes, I'm fine, I just slipped…' She looked up at Ron and Harry, who were glaring at Draco as though he'd been personally responsibly for Hermione's fall. Draco scowled back at them, then at Hermione.

'Watch it, Granger,' he spat, and Hermione realised that he was playing along. She scowled back.

'I didn't exactly choose to fall over, you know,' she replied – even though he knew she had – and got up with the help of Harry's offered hand. 'Thanks, Harry.'

'It's okay.'

They carried on in the same pattern as before.

~*~

About half an hour later, having gathered their money, the group emerged from Gringotts into a busy, noisy Diagon Alley. Witches and wizards bustled to and fro, carrying packages, potion ingredients, shouting children, shopping bags and mysterious parcels. There was a hurried feel to the air, in spite of the warm summer sun that should have imposed a lazy, sleepy feel on the place. There was simply too much to do.

Draco watched them all, frowning and feeling strangely misplaced. It was the first time he'd been among so many people since he'd become human, and there were far too many of them, their minds far too complex. Before, when his mind had been fully Fallen, they'd been lower life-forms, bound by their silly emotions and feelings… now he was one of them. If life was a game, he was playing the same way they were – except he didn't know half the rules.

'Deirdre wanna go home!' came a child's miserable cry as the group pushed their way through the crowd. The child's mother, looking flustered and worried, bent down to placate her.

'It's okay, dear, we'll go home as soon as we've bought Daddy a…'

She was interrupted as the child broke into tears. 'Deirdre wanna go home now!'

Draco watched with interest. He had seen crying, of course, though hadn't experienced what it felt like. Was it soft or harsh? Gentle or painful? Did it make you feel better or worse? How could you describe it… and was it even the same all the time? It couldn't be – this child was practically screaming, yet he'd seen girls crying softly, almost silently. Sometimes because of things he'd done or said to them.

And that made him feel something too, a deep down twist, like a huge bronze bell chiming a painfully wrong note. Of course it was wrong. Fallen minds thrived on doing wrong; all their instincts led them to do it. He knew that making people cry was wrong. As a Fallen, he had done it often. And humans also did it, he'd seen them, knew they were capable of doing bad things, horrible, cruel things. So why, he wondered, did he feel as if, at that moment, he couldn't have brought himself to make someone cry?

He wanted to carry on watching the girl and her mother, but couldn't; the mass of people jostled them along into Flourish and Blotts and he lost sight of them.

The bookshop was quieter than outside, but nonetheless still busy. Draco glanced around the clean, bright room, made colourful by the rainbow spines of a hundred books, and realised that quite a large number of people were staring at him, their conversations fallen silent. Of course: the Malfoy heir had just entered a public place in the company of half the Order of the Phoenix. Lucius might know where he was spending his holiday, but the public didn't.

It didn't matter what they thought. Besides, he was used to stares. He shrugged them off, one sweep of his cold grey eyes turning away the gazes of all but the most curious. Draco took out his school book list and Hermione's suggestions, read them through, and began looking.

He listened to snatches of conversation as he made his way around the shelves, paying attention to the nuances of tone in each voice, nuances that he'd been taught to read as though their meanings were being screamed in his ear. He had never before truly appreciated the feelings behind them.

'I say, have you read that new book by… oh, who was it now? Surely you remember, blonde witch with the frizzy hair…'

'But you have to appreciate the importance of the Greek philosophers to the wizarding society at that time. I mean, Socrates alone…'

'Well, I don't care what you think, but my Galleons are on the Caerphilly Catapults.'

'Did you hear about that break-in at the Bennett-Jones' manor? The men who did it have been convicted, I heard – and serve them right too!'

Draco wandered round the shelves, listening and browsing the titles. He collected all his schoolbooks, all the suggestions of Hermione's he could find – eight – and a book on Arithmancy that caught his interest. He had easily the largest book pile of anyone there – he needed two bags to carry them in.

They left the bookshop a few minutes later, and went on to collect all the little necessities they needed – quills and parchment, potions supplies and a new cauldron for Hermione. New robes, of course, and he spent quite some time with Madame Malkin choosing about five new ones. He'd left all of his behind at the Manor, and while his mother could send them by owl, she could only send one at a time. Besides, he discovered that he liked buying new robes.

The time passed surprisingly quickly. All too soon, he found his arms filled with bags and his pockets lightened of the gold Galleons that he'd taken out of his personal account – it had been quite fortunate that he had one, because he couldn't have taken money out of the family account, not with Lucius on his trail. The last thing to buy was Ginny's cat.

The pet store was dark, with a strangely soft texture to the air, as if with every movement you made you were brushing against a cat's fur or an owl's feathers. Toads croaked in a corner, cats prowled out their territories in the dim alleyways of the floor, and owls haunted the rafters like ghosts.

Ginny seemed to spend an age deciding, playing with every single cat in turn. Draco leant against a wall and watched. Hermione was helping Ginny to choose, sitting cross-legged on the floor and playing with two cats at once, giving advice ('You don't want one that fights with the other cats, remember, he or she will have to get on with Crookshanks and the other cats in Gryffindor.' and 'You should choose one that's healthy and active.') Was there no one she didn't offer help to?

Harry and Ron were sitting on one side, absently playing with a couple of kittens while they chattered spasmodically. He turned his attention to the adults, who were talking to the man who owned the shop – apparently an old friend of Tonks'.

'Will, you never told me you were going to take over this place! When was the last time we met?' Tonks was asking.

'Three years ago?' the man replied, frowning. He looked around at the other adults. 'My name's Will, by the way. Will Barnes. Pleasure to meet you all.'

Tonks looked momentarily ashamed. 'Sorry, forgot my manners. OK, Will this is Remus, and this is Molly and her husband Arthur…'

There was a general shaking of hands. 'Have I met you before?' Mr Weasley asked. 'You look rather familiar…'

'Can't say I remember…' Will frowned. 'We probably have, though, I'm terrible at remembering faces. So, who's the cat for then?'

Draco's attention was distracted by a tiny mew from his feet, and the commanding bump of a small head against his shin. He looked down into the pure blue eyes of a Siamese cat, who regarded him imperiously and mewed again before rubbing against his legs.

He couldn't stop the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, for some reason. After all, it was only a cat that wanted some attention. But it was sweet, somehow, and amusing in the authoritative way it waited for him to stroke it. Deciding to oblige, he bent to floor level and stroked its soft fur. The cat started purring as he did so.

Half a minute later, when his hand was beginning to tire, Ginny and Hermione's laughter cut into the general background noise of the shop. The Siamese sat upright suddenly, eyes snapping open, and with a tiny mew ran away from Draco without so much as a backward glance, to leap dramatically into Ginny's lap. Draco felt inexplicably slighted.

'Hello, little kitty.' Ginny cooed. 'Oh, Hermione, look at her eyes, aren't they gorgeous?'

Hermione agreed. Ginny started stroking the cat, who curled up and basked on her lap. When Ginny paused in her stroking to say something to Hermione, the little cat batted her hand with its paw, to keep Ginny going.

'She's very pretty.' Hermione was saying. 'And healthy, too, not to mention I don't think she's more than a year old.'

'She's eleven months exactly.' said Will, who had come up behind them suddenly. 'Completely housetrained, domesticated, and the rest. Pedigree, too. Pure Siamese.'

'Does she have a name?' asked Ginny.

'No, we don't normally name them unless they've been here for years.' Will replied, bending down to scratch the cat's ears. 'We nickname them though. This one's the Mad Princess, because most of them time she's quite demanding – she doesn't beg for you to stroke her or ask you, she orders you. But then sometimes she goes a little insane. Acts like a kitten on catnip.' He grinned. 'She's adorable, really, a real sweetie. Very loving, too, she gets attached to anyone.'

Ginny considered this for a moment, stroking the cat's silky fur, then looked down into its sapphire eyes and grinned. 'The Mad Princess, is she? I shall call her Kassyndra,' she announced.

Draco could see the mythological connection instantly – Cassandra, the Trojan princess who everyone had believed to be mad – and by the realisation on Hermione's face, she obviously saw it too. 'Good name,' she congratulated Ginny, but Ron obviously had other thoughts.

'Kassyndra? That's almost as bad as Pigwidgeon,' he told her. 'Can't you give it a nice normal name, like Sapphire or something?'

'I don't know, Kassyndra's quite nice…' said Harry slowly. 'Perhaps you could shorten it? Call her Kass or Kassy or something…'

Ginny considered this. 'Kass.' She said firmly, then smiled down at her new pet. 'Hello, Kass.'

Kass mewed and curled up tighter on her lap, pawing at her to carry on stroking.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, when Kass and all the things Will assured them were completely necessary for the proper care of a cat have been paid for, the group gathered in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It was busy, but they managed to find two tables next to each other that were empty, and pushed them together to make one large table where everyone could just fit, if they tried. Draco found himself shoved into the gap between the adults and the Gryffindors. He didn't belong to either group, after all, though Hermione did give him a sympathetic half-smile before leaning over Ron's shoulder to pour over the menu.

'They have too many flavours,' Ron moaned, 'how on earth am I meant to choose?'

Somehow he managed, as did everyone else after agonising over their choices. Draco had chosen a plain, simple chocolate, the most boring thing on the menu except for vanilla. The others had exciting flavours, drizzled with caramel and drenched in sauces, painted in bright, vivid colours and filled with flavour. Tonks, feeling daring, had ordered the largest sundae in the shop and challenged Lupin to split it with her.

Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a book at random, with the odd feeling that, for all intents and purposes, he wasn't really there at all. He'd never been inside a Pensive, but he'd heard accounts of it. The events around you carrying on as though you weren't there at all… the difference being that he was there. Hermione kept glancing at him, and even smiled when she saw that he was reading one of the books he'd bought. He didn't return the smile.

He concentrated on the book. It appeared to be a collection of famous wizarding stories for children – How the Dragon got his Flame and similar things – but rewritten for adults, with a lot more depth. He'd heard of most of the stories – they were general knowledge – but never read them before, and the new twists on the story were interesting.

Draco began, half-consciously, to dissect the writer's style and techniques as he read the first story. Third person limited, past tense. Some particularly nice twists on an old story, he thought, and he appreciated the particularly nice descriptions that speckled the page. That was how he'd read books before. Analytically, like someone looking at a work of art and discussing the elegance of a paint stroke.

And then the short story began to build into its climax, and just as the young witch who was the story's protagonist was on the brink of death, her attempt to save the dragon doomed to failure, Draco realised he wasn't just analysing the story any more. He was feeling things, things that it didn't make any sense to feel. Fear, for example, or he thought it was fear. He felt cold, and his heart beat faster, and his breath was shorter and quicker, all of which were hallmarks of that particular emotion.

But why should he be afraid? Nothing was threatening him; nothing was about to hurt him. But he was afraid nonetheless, and he realised; he was afraid for the little girl in the story. That was silly. She wasn't even real. But he feared her death anyway, feared it as much as she herself did…

White-faced, he closed the book firmly, feeling strangely shaken by this irrational emotion. Did books do that to everyone? Why on earth would people want to read things that made them feel bad? Humans, these creatures of emotion and passion, were completely nonsensical!

'Dean!'

A shout diverted his attention, and he looked up, seeking for something that would dissipate the strangeness of that emotion, return him to sanity. The shouter was Ginny, who had leapt to her feet – carefully cradling Kass in her arms – fixing her eyes on a point in the crows. 'Oy, Dean!' she shouted again.

'Ginny!' came an answering shout, and Dean Thomas pushed his way out of the crowd, beaming from ear to ear. 'You didn't tell me you'd be here today!'

'I didn't know till yesterday – hey, are you with anyone? Come sit down with us!'

Draco looked between the two and, prompted by splinters of memory and the look on Ginny's face, quickly concluded that they were going out. His gaze flickered to Ron, whose jaw seemed to be set hard and his eyes fixed firmly ahead. This should be interesting…

Dean seemed to notice Ron too. He looked momentarily flustered and said, 'Er… hi, Ron…'

Harry jabbed Ron in the ribs with his elbow, giving him a meaningful look. Ron sighed almost inaudibly. 'Hi, Dean.'

This seemed to satisfy some requirement in the complicated rigmarole of dating the youngest Weasley. Dean sat down next to Ginny, and with a wicked smile, stole some of her ice cream.

Draco listened to Ginny telling him off, and Dean's soft fussing over Kass when Ginny introduced him to her, and Ron's slightly stilted conversation, and Harry's quiet remarks, and Hermione's glowing friendliness. A complex web of ever-changing interactions, the kind of web he'd studied when his mind had been Fallen, the kind of web he had to be part of as a human, but had no idea, absolutely no idea how.

~*~

A/N: Well, that's another chapter done – and guess what comes next week? Yes, its what you've all been waiting for – the return to Hogwarts! Now, I want everyone's opinion – should there or should there not be a Sorting Hat song? It's up to you. You have the power – use it! And, while you're using the power, you could always drop me a review! Hint, hint.